Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Thirty Two - Part Two

3

Burt was so happy.

It felt so good to be back at the hall, working again as a labourer. You didn’t know what you had until you’d lost it and never before had this been truer for Burt. It felt great to have his job back, the security of knowing he had somewhere to sleep and a profession to call his own. He thanked God he had his laboring job. He was so grateful to the Earl for giving it him back. It was wonderful to regain his pride at being an honest hard-working man.

He couldn’t believe that he’d broken the rules so badly, risked everything that was good about his life. He was absolutely determined to never do so again. He felt like the luckiest man alive to be given this second chance and he wasn’t going to blow it.

When Harry told him what to do he rushed to do it immediately, listening intently to the simple instructions he was given, his mouth hanging open vacantly, only having to ask a couple of time for Harry to repeat it.

He lugged sacks of grain, feeding the animals, then shifted bags of manure. He scraped up horse dung on a shovel and gathered firewood.

Burt made sure that Harry had no cause to shout at him. He’d seen the caring side of the old man and was determined never to let him down again. Harry was a far better man than he was. He never got into trouble with the Earl and he was right brainy. He worked as hard as he could and always used the proper terms of deference.

“Yes sir Harry.”

“Right you are sir.”

And Jeb, the same. Jeb was busy grooming the horses but he shouted orders from time to time for things needing fetching or carrying and Burt always hurried to do as he was told.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know who he used to be – his former life as her ladyship had never been clearer in his mind – but the reality of his current station was now also as clear.

The trauma of the flogging and then the time in gaol; the threat of all those years in prison; had drummed into him his own desperate regret for pushing too hard to get his old life back. Every time he had tried to maintain some semblance of his old ways he had failed and been punished for it. These situations had simply broken him. They had broken him so completely that he didn’t want his old life back now – might well even refuse it if offered it. He just didn’t dare risk sticking his neck out again. He had a desperate yearning for the simplicity and security of his life as Burt. He had been burned too badly, too many times. He simply didn’t have any resistance left in him.

Added to that was the effect of the potion he’d drunk, making his soul and body match. This form and lifestyle felt right in a way his other life never could. He was entirely Burt, even if he would never forget his old life now.

And on top of all that was his vow to the Earl and the prayers he’d sent to God – to be the best servant he could be if only he got the chance to have his life back. He had given his word as a man never to want to give this up again.

“Burt!” yelled Harry.

“Yes sir?” Burt hurried round the stable building and up to the old man.

“Get up to the back of the hall. The Countess wants some pots shifting.”

“Yes sir. But…”

“Spit it out.”

“What about the gardener?”

“He’s put his back out,” said Harry. “Now get up there before I tell the Earl you’ve been slackin.”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

Burt hurried up the path as quickly as he could.

Since touching the pendant again, Burt recognised intellectually that the Countess used to be his mother but in no way did he think of her that way. The effect of the pendant remained hazy to the most part. Deep inside him he knew the former truth but this was still entirely superseded by the plethora of Burt memories he possessed and his indelible identity as a servant. Every human being knew that once upon a time they had been a babe in arms. That had no bearing at all on their self-image or current identity.

He was Burt and he always would be. That wasn’t in any doubt.

The Countess looked irritable and impatient when he reached the back lawn. Her mood didn’t improve in the least as he shambled across and doffed his cap.

“M’lady. Ow can I be of service?”

She sneered at his awful accent and dirty ways but Burt barely registered that. He was used to that now. If anything, being addressed with civility and respect would have made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

“I want these pots moved.” She pointed at a series of huge stone flower pots in which shoots were starting to come up. “They simply won’t do here. I want them in a row over there.” She pointed toward the back of the garden.

Burt nodded.

“Well be quick about it man. I don’t have all day to wait.”

“Yes m’lady,” groveled Burt. “I’m sorry m’lady.” He picked up the first pot and hurried bow-legged after her.

The Countess didn’t look back to check on his progress. She walked to the vicinity of the pot’s destination then stood contemplating the best position for several minutes while Burt strained, sweat trickling down his brow.

“I wonder…” mused the Countess. She looked back the way they’d come. “They might be better… Hmmm.”

She put her hand to her cheek, considering the pros and cons of the ideal location while Burt did his best to keep silent, standing dutifully as she took her time, not wanting to be disrespectful by showing what a strain it was.

After a full five minutes had passed the Countess glanced at him. He gave a polite smile that was more grimace under the terrible weight of the pot.

“I’ll thank you to stand further away,” snapped the Countess. “You smell deplorably.”

Burt blushed and staggered back, starting to lower the pot.

“Don’t put that down. I’ve almost decided where it’s going!”

“Yes m’lady. Sorry m’lady.” Burt bobbed his head, standing straighter, despite the numbness in his arms.

“Here I think,” said the Countess.

Burt scurried forward.

“No. There.”

Burt went over to where she was pointing and lowered the pot into place.

“Not that way round,” said the Countess. “The other way.”

“Sorry m’lady.” Burt turned the pot.

“Lift it! Don’t twist it! You’ll mark the paving slabs!”

“Sorry m’lady.” Burt struggled to shift it round.

“No. The other way.”

Burt shifted it round further.

“No.”

He moved it more.

“No.”

He turned it further.

“That will have to do.” The Countess sighed heavily. “I’ll have to get the gardener to put it properly when he’s recovered. At least he can follow instructions.” She pointed. “Now fetch the other pots and put them in a line here. Is that clear?”

“Yes m’lady.” Burt nodded and hurried to do as he was told.

It felt so good to be useful – to be a hard working man who knew his place. It was wonderful to be back here at the hall. He knew he was the most insignificant member of staff; the lowest of the low; but he knew where he stood. He got his orders and he followed them. Someone else made all the decisions that he wasn’t capable of doing and in return he had a safe place to live and he remained a free man.

He was so happy to be home.

 

4

After dinner, the Nevilles retired to the drawing room.

A stony silence had hung about the table during the meal and Hattie had a most unpleasant feeling that some kind of enmity was being leveled at her.

It wasn’t until after the parlour maid had delivered the coffee and withdrawn that the silence was finally broken by her father, the Earl.

“I am very disappointed in you Harriet.” He glared at her sternly. “Very disappointed.”

“What for?” she asked.

“Don’t answer back to me young lady!”

Hattie sat sullenly on the settee while the Earl moved to the fireplace and took one of his awful cigars from his case on the mantle.

“I don’t think you understand the seriousness of your actions,” he said. “You have caused me a great deal of embarrassment.”

“What have I done?”

The Earl went to put his cigar in his mouth and then withdrew it. “The trouble you stirred up with that stable hand of course!”

“Burt?”

“I don’t know the blighter’s name! It cost money to organise the trial in the first place and even more money to persuade that jobsworth magistrate to let the filthy man go!”

“Well what’s that got to do with me?” asked Hattie.

“It was you who started the whole thing you ignorant girl!” The Earl lit his cigar and puffed angrily on it, partially obscuring his face behind the cloud of foul-smelling smoke.

The telephone started to ring. Distracted, the Earl looked away then turned back to her. “You mark my words young lady,” he said. “This is far from over.”

Hattie crossed her arms more tightly, glaring darkly off. It hadn’t been her fault. It was he who had done the flogging and demanded the servant be thrown in gaol. This anger of his was entirely unjust.

The butler answered the telephone and, after a pause, handed it to Hattie’s mother.

Elizabeth Neville put the receiver to her ear and spoke imperiously but softly. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Mother. It’s Ann.”

“Ah good.” Elizabeth smiled. “Ann dear. We were expecting you home this evening. Have you been delayed?”

“Yes,” replied Ann. “We’ve arrived in York but the journey took longer than we expected. We’re going to stay at a hotel tonight and come the rest of the way in the morning.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Oh dear. That’s simply awful. But not to worry. It will be an even greater pleasure to see you in daylight when we have the day ahead of us to spend time with you. Did I tell you we will have guests from tomorrow as well? Your aunt and uncle and their children will be staying for a few days. They should arrive about the same time as you. They may even travel on the same train.”

“I see.” Ann seemed distracted, possibly even disappointed.

“You don’t mind do you Ann dear?” asked Elizabeth. “Only it’s been months since we saw your father’s brother and his wife.”

“No, I’m sure it will be divine,” replied Ann tersely.

“Good. That’s settled,” replied Elizabeth, entirely unaware of the sarcasm in Ann’s words.

“Alright,” said Ann. “I was… wondering how things were resolved with the stable hand that father had arrested.”

“Oh him?” Elizabeth snorted demurely. “Your father weaved his magic spell and had the blackguard released and reinstated, all on your advice I might add.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

“Ann?”

“Yes, I’m here,” she replied. I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Yes dear. It will be lovely to see you. It’s been almost a month since you left. I expect it will odd for you to return.”

“You have no idea,” said Ann.